


perhaps we are destined

by flowersforlukey



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 100 Lifetimes Challenge, Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2019-09-23 12:33:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17080415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersforlukey/pseuds/flowersforlukey
Summary: One-shots of events that transpire between Thor and Loki as they venture into alternate lifetimes. An entry to such a wonderful challenge created by @wisterings on tumblr.





	1. second fate

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I have decided to join @wisterings' writing challenge and I'm very excited about it! Updates will be every now and then depending on the wordcount of the next chapter so I hope you guys will bear with me. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Perhaps they are destined, either to live by the knowledge of the others’ existence, or to die by the hand of one of the two.

Sometimes they’re unfortunate enough to end up suffering the second fate, for no matter how hard they try to succeed in changing the way they’re supposed to live, one of them will always end up dying.

Sometimes though, it is Thor who suffers less, watching only from a distance, slipping under the sheets at night without so much as a glance to the still living corpse that awaits his passing. Nights like that are spent in resting tussling, only to be awakened by the news of a royal death.

Ropes. Thor remembers binding his hands in seidr, sending the Norns a prayer that he would resist his own hands if they start to tear, to pierce, to dig in deep into warm flesh.

Thor would visit the gravestone, plant his fingers above the name engraved on the stone, reminisce the familiar emerald irises and how they had bled in cold crimson at the first stab.

 _I could’ve done more to stop myself,_ he whispers, just in his head, for no one would appreciate seeing the living not mourn the dead.

Especially the living who are cursed with guilt.

_But it wouldn’t have made a difference._


	2. second fate (ii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation for the first part. Happy reading!
> 
> also, leave some suggestions below!

This time, Thor is the unlucky one.

“Brother,” he croaks, face dissolving into a grimace at the burning sensation quickly spreading through his fingertips. Thor looks up, sees beauty in burnt hair and faded green irises. “Don’t stop now.”

“I would _never_.”

Thor struggles to swallow his sob. None of his grief should be surfacing now, no. Not even when the rage in his brother’s voice is as genuine as it could be, and the eyes that used to well up in fear now pierce into his with lost familiarity.

Caged in a hut down the hills of Asgard, Thor bears his own grief as he watches the flames from Loki’s fingers spread about the wooden structure.

_I’ll keep you locked up, and afterwards have you burning._

Loki’s voice comes as a shrill cry in his ears. The sinister laugh that follows is different from the silence that greets him now, where Thor himself waits as he burns away and Loki just watching the scene unravel with hesitant fingers.

Thor sees it as a slip-up. A change of behavior, a shift in once angered demeanor. It shouldn’t be a chance to _hope,_ no _._ This is how their fates are tied. Loki is going to ensure Thor meets his death by his own pale hands.

Thor’s head is soon caught up by the smoke. Loki watches by the window, an expression of pride etched across his face as if he’s just perfected a lifelong practiced spell and he’s only seeing the results now come to life.

Maybe he is.

Thor gives Loki one more look, just to be reminded of how younger pairs of those hollow eyes had looked at him during thunderstorms, when all was covered in silent darkness and the only warmth offered was in Thor’s arms.

_Brother, if the strength in you finds a way to stop this…_

At his last breath, Thor remembers a silver child, running about the palace to find his room, gifted hands eager to knock, to play, and to hold.

_…please don’t._


	3. somewhere

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays everyone! This is for all of you :)

Somewhere, Thor knows a presence lingers still. 

He dreams of _him_  most nights, barely even a caress to his restless tussling. No face, no voice, only very distinct soft pale fingers.

He doesn’t even remember when he’d come to realize that it was no woman who lingered by his side as he laid in the countless voids of one’s mind, but was instead, a _man_ , who lacked in nothing and moved with finesse and grace whenever he held Thor close.

Overtime, Thor had grown used to leaving the unnamed person float around in the air. _Did I have a friend when I was much younger, mama?_ He’d looked through his box of toys and found replicas of king cobras that never really fitted his unnerving taste for sword plays. _Where has he gone these years?_

He didn’t get a definite answer, of course.

With no specific explanation, Thor’s hands would search. Ears would listen, eyes would lie open and restless. For three more years, he waits.

And for three more years, _he’s_ still there.

One night, Thor had made the mistake of going through his mother’s drawer instead of his father’s. _I kept the manual underneath my plaid shirts _,__ he had told Thor, who was very eager to ride his wooden horse which was currently in the phase of malfunctioning. _Top left drawer, and no keyhole._

But Thor had grown curious over the white sheet of photopaper sticking out from the last drawer below. It wasn’t on the top left, the keyhole proudly placed across mahogany surface staring at him, and yet Thor held his breath and pulled it open.

Thor was also very young when he made the mistake of being too smart. Inside were not red plaid shirts. Papers, photographs. Papers, stacks of them, black ink printed across.

And photographs, framed with wood, others either bent or ripped in the middle. Still, Thor saw him as clearly. Long black curls, absent smiles, and pale, pale limbs. Too pale to be healthy.

At first glance, Thor had _recognized_ him. But when he went to pick one photograph up, the boy was gone.

_Where has he gone, mama? Did he leave when I was still young?_

Frigga finds one of those photographs tucked between one Thor’s Physics books, years later when he enters middle school. Thor had never them about it, never had the guts to address the unknown. There was just no reason to.

For years, he grew up believing in the unknown. Now, he's just getting around the possibility of things actually becoming real.

Sometimes, he finds himself growing tired of actually believing in anything anymore.

_Did he ever even exist in the first place?_


	4. mirage

It hurt to look at him.

How he grinned at every joke thrown, the way his head tossed itself to the side to brush the hair from his face, his rigid back heaving in equal breaths curled as he bent forward and gasped from deprived air.

His piercing eyes do not wander far enough to find Thor’s. They fluttered shut and awoken, always holding a glint that would not go unnoticed. Thor gripped his own thigh under the table, an attempt to restrain the unfamiliar coldness spreading across his chest in an unforgiving rate.

He’d seen that man before.

Back in his borrowed dreams and vague hallucinations. Jet black hair, porcelain skin. A face of sharp beauty yet graced with no name. Who was before unknown, now so near to touch.

Hiding behind the rim of his book, Thor took a sharp breath. No man would appear in his head in reoccurring occasions and not appear in eyesight for no reason. He stood up, clutching the book in his hand, and walked towards the figure.

Someone collided into his shoulder. The stab of unforeseen pain lasted no more than three seconds before Thor released his audible wince and looked ahead to continue his stride, only to be met by a sight of an empty chair and four heads instead of five.

Gone was his thousand-to-one shot of finally finding a nameless face. Gone was his hope, one that fostered so deep into his chest to ever be neglected with ease.

Sadly, he had lost him again.


	5. linseed oil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot soon!
> 
> Also, sorry for the slow updates. I'm actually working on a multi-chapter Thorki hospital fic called "Juda". It will be up soon!

“I think I bought the wrong medium.” Thor fishes into his satchel, sighing in relief when his fingers find a small vial as the bottom. He pulls it out, offering an outstretched arm to the man behind the counter. “Apologies. I was abit in a rush last time.”

The clerk claims the bottle from Thor’s hand, slim fingers lightly brushing against his rough palm. Thor’s eyes perk up at the contact, though the man seems unfazed, masking a face that told Thor not to dwell on it for too long.

“I might need the receipt, sir.”

Thor hands him the roll, watching with a curious demeanour as the man retreats from the counter and fumbles with a few overhead cabinets. Mahogany surfaces clear with dust as he works, wooden panels creaking from the hinges to tell of old age. The clerk retrieves a tray of lined bottles labelled with known familiar oil brands, eyes bright but face gloomy with worn weariness.

The shop is old and furnished only by the shimmer of creased wallpaper. An aftershave of turpentine as strong as the orange sticking out like a sore thumb among the dull shades of grey and flesh. Canvases masked by pain across dusted walls, portraits of barren apartments and sagging skin of ageing women softened by dry brushstrokes to achieve a dream-like ambience.

The place seems old,  _too_  old for this occupied young man rusted with a ripped cloak to own. Thor successfully forces his curiosity to die down, managing to keep his nosy questions from going all over the place as he accepts the new bottle of medium from the man.

“Linseed oil,” he tells Thor, voice dismissive.

But Thor is more reckless than he could give himself credit for, and even after keeping track of his flaws better than other people have ever done, he knows that staring far too long at a particular painting from the far left corner and asking about it would absolutely get him in the wrong places.

“Sorry, but did you paint that?” he blurts out, not a single ounce of sanity left inside his brain, eyes instinctively darting across the room to where a framed canvas is proudly hung on the wall.

The linen has been painted a portrait of a woman dressed in green luster, the length of her hair receding to a faint grey just below her shoulder blades. The splash of paint is an exceptional work itself, strong pent up colors dragged over intricate details by polished brushstrokes. Her eyes are what pull Thor into an unconscious pace, whether it was the blue around black irises or the mistaken nonchalance in her smile, he didn’t know. They’re no more than two faded irises of deep cerulean, but they hold real intent that only ever makes Thor wishing to sate his own curiosity.

Scribbled white paint could be made out. A trademark of some sort, perhaps. Thor squints to see more clearly. “Loki Laufeyson?”

If this Loki feels appalled that some random customer happened to notice the one painting that could only receive so little attention given the location of its display, it doesn’t show. He follows Thor’s eyes, merely gazing at the painting, before turning back around and chuckling.

“Catches the eye, then?”

“I would say,” Thor muses, distracted. With now confident strides he reaches the painting and runs the pad of his thumb over the rim of the frame. “I’ve only ever expanded my expertise to mastering dry-brush techniques. Twelve years of painting and all it tells me is how your technique exceeds everything else. Your brushstrokes are exceptional.”

It’s a strange thing to see Loki smile. Strange that Thor relishes in the way the compliments he would take as effortless manage to tear the tight line across Loki’s face into an ear-splitting grin. That quick millisecond of sincere flattery. A display of sheepish demeanor, one that opens more cracks than Thor has ever bargained for.

Thor is still inspecting the portrait when Loki appears at his side. They stare at the painting together with understood silence.

For a moment, Thor allows himself to feel at ease.

“Thirty-five years from today,” Loki speaks after a moment. “I could still smell the minerals dad had told me were odorless. Mediums those days were expensive, so he had to give up a quarter of his weekly wage. A bottle of wine popped open to celebrate seven years of marriage.”

Thor is staring at him now, a little behind of what this was slowly leading to. Loki ducks away and chuckles. “I didn’t paint her; dad did. Mum was a wonderful sight that night. She sat for nearly an hour behind the easel. Once it was over, dad turned the canvas around was prized with what happened to be his last kiss.”

It just  _clicks._

"You're Laufey's kin," Thor says, starting to put two and two together. He switches his gaze from Loki's unaffected expression to the woman on the painting. "I hadn't realized Faurbauti died so young."

"Not many people knew her."

It had been early when Odin put Thor through a local art class. Despite the multitudes of merry among students, the place had been wallowing in grief. Empty hallways were concealed with landscapes of hidden meadows and intricately detailed mammals. Their very canvases branded with the name of the late maestro, and Thor hadn't been old enough to share the grief of his fellow comrades.

"And what of your father?" Thor quips. "Didn't he go to Iceland in the '90s?" 

"That trip was mainly for wandering to find inspiration for his next collection," Loki elaborates. "His agency took a lot from him during the process of completing the required thirty frames. Three months in, he came home sick. I barely had a month to prepare for his funeral."

"What did he die of?"

"Pneumonia," says Loki. "Over-exposure to strong mineral spirits. Unrefined turpentine, mostly."

"That's it?" Thor asks, dumbfounded, but corrects himself as soon as he sees the furrow of Loki's eyebrows. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. But why use turpentine still? Your studio reeks of it."

Loki shrugs. "I used to avoid it like the plague. Unfortunately, there had been budgetary cuts on my part that added to the inevitable problem of increasing prices of mediums. I had no other choice. I still don't."

Thor allows himself a second to register everything. "Doesn't it give you terrible memories?"

"It reminds me of good ones," Loki offers a smile, eyes glued to the painting. "I can't think of more terrifying moment than the day the store was left to me. Twelve years old with no one and nothing else but second-hand painting supplies and my amateur skills. I had no education back then, no money, but when I did, I earned them from the horizons I painted. Back then, I struggled to paint anything other than grass."

The question remains in the air, even after Loki shared a part of his artistic and familial background to a stranger. "Do you paint?" is an obvious one, one which would make Loki turn his heels and take Thor for someone so agonizingly slow.

"Can I see one of your pieces?" is what he asks instead.

He expects Loki to slow his reluctance, to shake his head and drag Thor to the doorstep for his rash display of nosiness, so he's only a little taken aback at the shrug Loki offers him.

"Behind you."

When Thor turns around, his first instinct is to gape. Wild fir trees structured by fat plains of paint brought about by palette knives, abstract brushstrokes of cerulean waters that stand out among the dull greying shadows. Another sight Thor is able to pick up is that there aren't even  _dull_  shades. They're bright in their own crevices and complimenting hues of burnt sienna and scarlet. 

"What is this place?"

"Asgard," Loki answers, a sly smile hanging from his lips. "It's... a place I've made up."

"It's fascinating," Thor smiles, completely in awe. He turns to the maestro in front of him and looks at him in a whole new light. "I don't suppose it's for sale?"

Loki approaches him with an openness that eases Thor from his head.

"Why don't I just paint you one?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me as [@shattered-loki](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/shattered-loki) on tumblr for updates!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Do tell me what you think if you wish. Feedback is always appreciated!
> 
> shameless self-promotion: You may also check out my recent one-shot "flashcards" which has a 10k wordcount :)
> 
> Catch me as [@shattered-loki](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/shattered-loki) on tumblr to catch my fic updates!


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